Fireside Chat
by Lizard Pie
Summary: The Red River Rebellion was finally winding down, and left nothing but the negotiations.  With Ontario at the helm, a budding province doesn't stand much chance.  IAM OC's.


The fire in the corner of the room did little to block out the chill outside. Truth be told it didn't do much for lighting the room, either, and had to be helped along by numerous gas lights.

It was the fireplace, though, that highlighted the child on the other side of the desk. Particularly, it lingered on the fresh bruises he'd taken. Were his clothing less concealing, it would have shown hastily-stitched lacerations.

Oliver was just fine with that. Ever since Rupert's Land had been renamed, this little delinquent had made a pain of himself with endless violent rebellion.

He'd, specifically, been a pain in Oliver's side. For whatever reason, the issue of quieting this uprising had been placed on his shoulders. He'd thought they had people for this sort of thing.

The boy was hardly happy with the arrangement, either, and he didn't take any pains to hide it. He'd demanded audience with Matthew, if not Arthur. Oliver's name hadn't come up in conversation, at least not surrounded by expletives.

Oliver figured the deep scowl came from the feeling of being considered a joke and a nuisance. Even if Matthew had been there, though, the expression probably would have been the same. The boy always seemed to look like someone had spit in his food, regardless if things were going well or not.

He had a name, probably. Oliver figured he should try to remember it, were he to make some headway in this negotiation. It'd be difficult, since he hadn't bothered to listen when it'd been said.

This whole thing should have been finished, by now.

"I heard about the execution," Oliver said. "It must have been hard to watch."

The boy's eyes were cold and uncertain as he swallowed down whatever he actually wanted to say. "We're able to handle controlling rebels within our own territory."

He hadn't been around long enough to hide the shake in his voice, or the wince as shifting aggravated an open wound.

"You didn't need to arrest my delegates," he said.

"They abetted a murder," Oliver told him. "I don't want…" He paused to look the battered child over as he searched for the right word. "Unsavory men traveling my streets. It'd cause panic."

"It was your propaganda that caused that," he snapped before he managed to collect himself. He took a moment to swallow his words again. "But at least they're released and we can continue with our negotiations…"

"I'm not really sure about that. You're led by enemies of the queen, and…"

"I'm led by men whose only want is to be accepted by the union of Canada," he said. "By the way, when is he supposed to get here?"

"He's not."

The boy seemed startled. "But… shouldn't he be here to negotiate, if I'm going to be accepted…"

"Nobody ever said we were just going to accept you," Oliver said. "We're here to negotiate. And since you've proven that you're willing to cradle a group which has been violent to say the least, I'm not sure your abilities are there yet." Ontario smiled. "We'd be happy to handle a government for you, though."

"I can do it," the boy said firmly. "That's why we've been taking care of our local issues like violent criminals."

"Violent criminals who opposed violent natives who have been killing my countrymen, if you recall." Oliver frowned. "I might be able to negotiate you into province-hood, but I'm incredibly concerned that these rebellions you've nurtured will make you implode just as soon as I give it to you."

The boy's ability to hide his stress lessened as he realized that his leaders had made a critical mistake. The brow, far too furrowed for a body that young, cast heavy shadows in the firelight.

"We could split the baby," Oliver offered. "I give you the land and title, and you get the support that the confederation provides."

"What's the catch?" The boy asked.

"Honestly, I don't think it's all that bad of a proposal. You get someone highly experienced to take you by the hand and…"

He unconsciously rubbed a wound. "You're going to control the territory?"

"Ottawa," Oliver corrected with a smile. "We're not one and the same. That, of course, means that Canada would be helping you along as you wanted. And with so many acres to cultivate, you're sure to grow. I think it's an excellent proposal for a young boy like you."

The boy mulled over the possibility to put down the rifle he'd been born with. "I can't do this with those murder charges hanging over my leader's heads," he said, finally. "Can we at least talk about amnesty for them?"

"We can talk about it," Oliver said. "But right now, you have news to report, right?" He smiled. "You're fight's finally over…" He paused as the boy stood up.

"You don't remember my name, do you?"

Oliver's grin faltered. "There are so many names in this new territory…"

"Ilan," the boy said.

He gave Oliver a skeptical look over, as if he could read the future in a politician's eyes.

For a moment, he questioned the negotiation. But it'd been a long struggle, and his body ached to actually grow. The potential was enough for him to be hopeful and let it rest.

Oliver was left alone to consider his newly acquired land, hopefully the first of a great deal more. The natives were a corrupting force, though, who could do little to keep the Minnesotan settlers at bay. And, as long as Riel stood, Ilan would continue to slip backwards.

It was an errand of peace, then, to monitor it any way he knew how. Oliver would organize his troops in the morning.

For the evening he'd call it settled. He doused the fire, and headed home.


End file.
